


InTuition

by WaitingxInxSilence



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingxInxSilence/pseuds/WaitingxInxSilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to make college more affordable for her son, Griselda convinces recently single Marianne to a marriage of convenience-- Bog gets his local student scholarship, and Marianne gets a little pocket money and a good excuse not to see her cheating ex again.  It's a win-win situation, provided no one's feelings get in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Saw it on Your Keyboard

**Author's Note:**

> This fan fiction is inspired by a tumblr post from toraziyals.
> 
> Here I am again, starting another story before finishing the previous one. While this chapter is relatively tame, save for a few swear words, I have planned for this fic to become explicit. Once that chapter is posted, I will update the audience rating. No major trauma or character death, just fluff and lemon. As a nod to the movie's jukebox musical genre, each chapter will be named after a song.
> 
> I had wanted Marianne to work for Crown Catering, but a quick google search showed that that is a real company, so I changed it to Blue Crown Catering-- just something to hail back to her canon royal status. It is not based off of a real business, so any relation would be coincidental. There will be no "real" people in this story, only canon characters and some minor OCs to round out the cast.

    Two minutes until lunch. She was strong. She could survive two more minutes. Marianne squared her shoulders against the heat. She shimmied in her seat, her polyester work shirt damp with sweat, trying to unstick the fabric from her skin. She grimaced. _Screw being strong_. With a quick peak to ensure no one was watching, Marianne swiftly undid the buttons of her polo shirt and freed the hem from her skirt. Fanning herself, she glared at the phone. _Don't you dare ring. Ring and I will fucking kill you, I swear._

     It rang.

     Marianne released an animalistic growl as she snatched the phone off the receiver, “Blue Crown Catering. Marianne speaking, how may I help you?”

     “Hi, this is Ashlynn Bleaker from the Bleaker/Moore wedding.”

     Marianne pushed back her rage as the clock hit 2:00 PM. Lunch. Forcing a smile, she continued, “Hi Ashlynn, what can I do for you?”

     “Um. Yes. I'm calling because I just found out that my cousin's kid can't be around gluten, like, at all, and I was wondering if maybe we could tweak the menu a little bit?”

     “One moment, please,” Pulling up her file, Marianne scanned the menu with a frown, “Well, the good news is our chicken and rice pilaf is already gluten free.”

     “...Just the chicken and rice?”

     “Yes.”

      “What about the tilapia?”

      “Breaded.”

      “And the cake?”

      “Made with flour, ma'am.”

      “Well, shit.”

     “I'm sorry, ma'am.” _Not really._ “Would you like to come in for another tasting? What are you thinking?”

      “I'm thinking I don't like my cousin that much.”

      Marianne chewed her lip. There wasn't a proper response for that on the customer service script. “Well, if you do decide to reduce the guest list, we'll need to know at least five business days in advance.”

      “Right. Five business days. I'm gonna have to make a few phone calls.”

      “Not a problem. Thanks for calling!”

      “Thanks! Bye!”

      Marianne didn't drop the customer service persona until she heard the click on the other end. “Oh my fucking god.”

      Marianne's would've-been bridesmaid, Clover, emerged from the break room, “Bleaker/Moore wedding?”

      “Between them and the heat I'm about to lose it. Please tell me you're here to relieve me.”

      She laughed, high-pitched and feminine, clearly unaffected by the temperature. “See you in an hour, Mari.”

 

     Punching out, Marianne crossed the street to the electronic cafe a few doors down, desperate for unsecured wifi and “Air conditioning!” Finding a free seat was easy-- the lunch rush on Thursdays was nonexistent. Pulling out a seat in the far corner for privacy, she sifted through the spam on her iPod for anything substantial. She had a few part-time job offers to delete. Marianne chewed her lip, thinking. Now that she had just been switched to full time, she really should cancel her account at that careers site.

      Between tired subject lines of 'I'm 7 waist size smaller in one week' and 'Become a millionaire with one simple trick!,' something more original caught her eye:

 

> Please Please PLEASE marry my son! (It's for school!!!)' from GrislyMamaBear3000

 

     With a quick look over each shoulder, she double clicked the absurd link, morbidly curious. Marianne was nearly certain it was a scam, but at least she'd be entertained, and have something to talk to Clover about after her lunch.

 

>  Hi! I'm a friend of Plum's and my son is starting college in your state soon, but we haven't lived in the area long enough for him to qualify for the local student scholarship. But that rule doesn't apply if they're married to someone who's been here for two years or more. Would you help us out? I can pay you, and you can get divorced after the school year if you want.

 

     Marianne sipped her iced coffee as she reread the unusual request. She hadn't talked to Plum in months-- not since her engagement went up in smoke and she called to cancel several hundred dollars floral arrangements. She winced at the memory. Marianne had felt terrible for backing out on a small business owner, especially when Ms. Plum had been so enthusiastic about the order, and even worse when she had to explain why she was canceling. But if Plum was sending business her way, granted, the business was fraud, she couldn't be too upset.

      Drumming her fingers on the table, Marianne thought over the offer. She could use some extra money. Depending how much this GrislyMamaBear3000 character was willing to pay, she might be able to afford finishing her last semester without taking out any more loans, and if this pseudo marriage included moving in together, it would give her time away from her nagging father and pitying sister. Time she could use to find a real room mate.

     Unfortunately, the email didn't delve far into the details. She supposed it might be for the best, since this arrangement teetered on the edge of legality. Opening a new message page, Marianne typed a brief reply,

 

> Talk more in person? I'm free after six.

 

     Marianne punched send before she could talk herself out of it. Her heartbeat jumped. She didn't just agree to break the law. She just agreed to talk to someone about breaking the law. Totally different. She hadn't done anything illegal, at least not yet. She was still completely within her first amendment rights. Coffee nearly drained, a waitress loomed over Marianne's shoulder, refilling her cup. Marianne quickly switched tabs, reminding herself that there was nothing incriminating open at the time. Logged off and glass full, Marianne questioned if her jitters were a result of nerves or caffeine. She played that math in her head. She'd only seen her glass refilled once, but if she normally drank one serving in twenty minutes... Marianne sighed. Math was only good if she knew how much caffeine was in a cup, and even then, she didn't know how much was too much.

     Marianne's iPod dinged. GrislyMamaBear3000 had replied.

 

> I'm free tonight, too! It must be fate! Meet you at the diner across from Plums? Snacks are on me. How's seven?

 

     Marianne inhaled deeply. _Do not let yourself be swayed by free food. You are a grown woman._ Activating the quick reply feature, Marianne responded automatically,

 

> See you there.

 

 


	2. If I Can't Love Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne meets Griselda at a local diner. Meanwhile, Bog still pines for another woman. Split between Marianne and Bog's point of view.

    When the Oak and Main Diner first opened, it marketed itself as a middle class date night spot, but being within walking distance of a public lake and West Fairfield University, enough customers came in wearing swim suits and pajamas that they now hosted karaoke nights on Thursdays and catered to pregaming sophomores.

 

    It was almost seven. Marianne pulled her keys from the ignition and checked her hair in the rear-view mirror. She used her extra hour take a quick shower and trade her work clothes for a pair of bike shorts and a golden, tunic length t-shirt. She wasn't sure what one was supposed to wear when being interviewed for a potential felony. Marianne curled her lips in on themselves, or was it a misdemeanor? Satisfied that she was presentable enough, Marianne locked the car doors behind her and headed inside.

 

    The Oak and Main was starting to calm down from its dinner time rush, but most of the tables were still full. Marianne felt a sudden surge of uncertainty as she scanned the restaurant for her contact, regretting not securing a photo or description of the woman in question.

 

    The hostess looked up from her seating chart, “Hi, and welcome to the Oak and Main Diner! Table for one tonight?”

 

“Oh,” Marianne snapped out of her trance, “No, I'm actually meeting someone, I'm just... not sure if they've arrived yet.”

 

    “Not a problem. If you know your party's name, I can check for you.”

 

    Marianne paled, “Um. No, actually.”

 

    “That's okay. What do they look like?”

 

    “I...” Marianne faltered, scrambling for anything she could recall from their brief emails about the person she was about to meet. “She's... a woman.” The name GrislyMamaBear3000 sounded feminine, but on the internet it was hard to be certain. _She mentioned having a college-age son, so_ , “She's... older...” Her heart dropped as a young couple came up behind her, lengthening a quickly growing line behind her. _This was a bad idea._ She stepped aside, “You know what? You can let them go first.”

 

    The hostess gestured vaguely toward the two-seater tables surrounding the bar, “Don't worry about it. We get blind dates in here all the time.”

 

    Marianne's jaw slacked. She burned to correct the woman, but the lie was more plausible than the truth.

 

    “Hey!”

 

    A gritty voice called out to her from the back of the restaurant.

 

    “Heeeeeeey you! Miss! Over here!”

 

    A tiny, stout woman in a dull-colored maxi skirt waved in her direction. When Marianne hesitantly waved back, the woman waved more frantically.

 

    “Marianne? Marianne!”

 

    Eyes on the ground, Marianne headed straight to the older woman's table, unwilling to meet the gaze of anyone whom might have overheard the hostess' parting comment. Marianne was done with dating, let alone blind dating, and would have been mortified to have partnered up with someone so obviously loud and abrasive like her last disaster. Arriving at the table, the woman sprung up from her seat to meet her.

 

    Marianne extended her hand to her future mother-in-law, “Nice to meet you, my name's--”

 

    “Marianne!” Instead of accepting the handshake Marianne offered, the woman jerked her down by the wrist and pulled her into a tight hug. “I'm Griselda!” Griselda rocked Marianne back and forth with each syllable.

 

    “Hi, Griselda.” Marianne patted her on the back; The universal sign to indicated when an embrace has gone on too long.

 

    Griselda pulled tighter. “You have such pretty skin!”

 

    An odd compliment, but she'd take it. “Thank you, and you... have a very strong grip.”

 

    “I know,” She released Marianne to roughly pat her shoulder, “It runs in the family. But come, come!” Griselda pulled Marianne to her seat. “I already ordered, hope you don't mind.”

 

    “Not at all. I like just about everything.”

 

    “Good,” Griselda waved at the approaching waitress, “'cause that's just what I ordered.”

 

    Marianne sipped her water as the waitress set two orders of the appetizer sampler in front of them.

 

    “Careful, they're hot.” She turned to Marianne with a quirked brow. No doubt the rumors were already spreading. “You two must be good friends.” The awkward uptick at the end of her sentence marked it as a question.

 

    “More than good friends.” Griselda held Marianne's hands in hers, gently patting them.

 

_Dear God._

 

    “She's my future daughter-in-law.”

 

    The waitress gaped, taking a quick look toward the bar, “I didn't know Bog was dating.”

 

    “He isn't.”

 

    Her mouth fell open. Paired with bulging eyes, her expression bore a strong similarity to a toad.

 

    “A mother knows.”

 

    Their toad-waitress glanced over her shoulder, “Right. Of course.”

 

    Marianne followed her gaze to the bar, presuming that one of the patrons had to be Bog. She scanned their ranks. None of them screamed to have an air of desperate for a sham marriage, but Marianne could only see the back of their heads, and she wasn't sure what that sort of air might look like. She wasn't thrilled that Griselda had already introduced her as a fiance before she actually agreed, but at least if she backed out now, Griselda would be looking like a fool, not her. Marianne munched her mozzarella stick. _An ex-con maybe. With a vestigial toe._

 

    Ducking to avoid the hanging glassware, Bog absentmindedly salted the rims of two margarita glasses. He had only worked at the Oak and Main for less than a year, but by now most of the drink orders were so familiar he could fill them automatically. To a stranger, his prowess could easily be mistaken for passion, but it wasn't mixology he was passionate about, or even customer service. In fact, after a shift of serving finicky students and pompous playboys, his patience could be served in a shot glass. The true reason he applied for the Oak and Main was far less altruistic.

 

    Lauren.

 

    They met the second week after he arrived in the United States. His mother decided she had earned enough to splurge on a restaurant dinner, and Bog had adamantly insisted she should save her money until her position at the local magazine was more secure, and nothing would be open anyway. But his mother was his mother, and reiterated that she was going, and she 'simply wouldn't dream' of leaving him behind because he would no doubt wallow in his bachelorhood until he cried himself to sleep in this strange, new world. So he went. Lauren was their server.

 

    She remembered his name. She looked at him and smiled. She liked his accent.

 

    When his mother mentioned they were new to the country and he hadn't found a job yet, she happily told them they were hiring. His mother insisted he apply. Spend some time together. Get to know her. And possibly marry her, have several kids, and a dog (not that he was nagging). And for once, he did. Apply for the position, that is. Individually, none of her features would be considered beautiful, especially her thin, wide lips and unfortunate predisposition to carry her fat around her neck. But together, to him, she was gorgeous, and there was plenty to love about her.

 

    She was kind.

 

    When she smiled, she smiled wide.

 

    She laughed with her whole body, and never bothered to hide it.

 

    Bog froze.

 

    And she was walking straight toward him.

 

_Shit._

 

    He tried to be civil. Hell, he tried to be kind, but there was only so much a man could take. Bog set the margaritas on the bar, careful to slip in and out unnoticed. Technically, she had done nothing wrong.

 

    She was still kind.

 

    When she smiled, she still smiled wide.

 

    She laughed with her whole body, and still never bothered to hide it.

 

    But she didn't love him.

 

    Didn't even want to try.

 

    He couldn't blame Lauren. Not really. It was her choice and he would respect it, but damn if it didn't smart. After six months, he should have been over a simple crush. He'd even taken the time to Google his predicament. All of the sources cited three simple steps:

 

1 – Distance yourself from the person.

 

    Working behind the bar gave him some distance, but not much. He had three feet of stained oak between him and the rest of humanity, but it also gave him a prime stage to watch her flit about the diner like a water strider across a pond.

 

    He ached.

 

    He knew he could spare himself the pain by quitting his position the Oak and Main, and he was sorely tempted to. If he left, few would fault him, but everyone would know why. He grimaced. He was stronger than that. Leaving his first decent paying job over a girl, and just after he started getting benefits-- he couldn't seriously consider it. He couldn't do that to himself, and he certainly couldn't to that to his mother.

 

    Besides, he couldn't leave Lauren. Not for himself. She was the closest thing he had to a real friend on this continent. How could he leave her? For what? For being too kind? For being too beautiful? For being honest and thoughtful and good?

 

2 – Reiterate their faults.

 

    What faults?

 

    She had no interest in dating him, but that didn't make her any different from any other woman in the world. He heard the snarky whispers from his coworkers: She looked like a toad. He was furious when he first heard the comparison, but with Lauren's thin, wide mouth and soft jaw line, he couldn't deny it. Which it even worse.

 

 _She's a toad_ , he reminded himself.

 

    Or as his mother's editor, Plum, told him, “She does look like a toad. You should still try, though, but it'd never work. She's a toad, and you look more like a cockroach/dragonfly/mosquito... thing. A toad would eat all those things. You need to find yourself another bug.”

 

3 – Find someone else.

 

    Yes. Because there was a line of women outside his door.

 

    Actually, there was a short line, once, led by his mother. Now only referred to as 'the Incident.' Bog did try to keep an open mind, if only for a week, but there was no one else he was interested in. So he stayed single-- not for his mother's lack of trying.

 

    Lauren tugged him aside. She always was a touchy-feely person. “Hey, Bog.”

 

 _Be cool._ “Hey,” he squeaked. _Fuck._

 

    “I just wanted to say 'congratulations'.

 

    She was close enough that he could smell the earthy tones of her soap. “Oh, um, thank you.”

 

    Lauren smiled that same wide smile, but there was something more devious in her expression. “Aren't you going to ask what for?”

 

    “What?”

 

    “Your engagement, of course.”

 

    “ _What?_ ”

 

    Hands on his ribs, she turned him toward the far corner booth. “Your mother just introduced me to your new fiance, and I must say, I have not yet received my save-the-date.”

 

    The woman across from his mother laughed, and Bog had to reassure himself that she was too far out of earshot to have been laughing at him. She looked... normal. Maybe even pretty-- he wasn't close enough to tell. He squinted against the bright yellow of her shirt, taking in her 'I want you to think I just woke up this way' hair cut and wild hand gestures.

 

_High-maintenance, no doubt. And probably bat-shit crazy._

 

    What had he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may almost be midnight, but I said I'd have a new chapter out today. I hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> I couldn't find any canon information about the personality of Bog's crush, so I did a lot of guesswork. Her name wasn't mentioned either, so I named her myself. She looks like a Lauren, don't you think?


End file.
